


Come With Me to the West

by MiraMira



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bonding, F/M, Fluff, Music, Pre-Relationship, Singing, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 17:43:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15248541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMira/pseuds/MiraMira
Summary: There are still some languages even the universal translator hasn't mastered.  Then there are the ones it doesn't need to.





	Come With Me to the West

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snowynight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowynight/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy, snowynight!
> 
> The [song](https://www.omniglot.com/songs/gaelic/canannangaidheal.php) Scotty sings here may be more of an anthem than a lullaby, but I liked the tune and title.

_“Thig thugainn, thig co-rium gu siar, gus an cluinn sinn ann cànan nam Féinn…”_

Uhura slips into Engineering, relieved to find the door open as she traces the tune she’s been following to its source. She shouldn’t be as surprised as she is to discover the owner of the rich, rolling baritone, or the activity in which he appears to be engaged. Nonetheless, she stands enraptured as the lilting words in a tongue too foreign for either her or the universal translator weave their spell around her.

That is, until Scotty registers her presence, and the music sputters to an embarrassed halt.

As it is far too late to make her excuses, she takes the opportunity to ask the question she didn’t dare interrupt with earlier. “Are you...singing to the warp drive?”

He flushes briefly, but stands defiant. “Mr. Spock’d call it illogical, I’m sure, but...somehow, the flux readings’re always calmer after I do it.”

“I’m not judging,” she assures him with a gentle chuckle. “Everyone on this ship’s caught me humming to myself too often for that.”

“Not often enough,” he murmurs. Then the realization he’s spoken out loud seems to hit, and his face turns the color of his uniform as his gaze drops to his shoes.

Nyota can feel the heat rising in her own cheeks. “So, that was Gaelic, I assume?” she asks, before the moment can make good on its threat to drag out into an awkward silence.

Scotty nods, clearly relieved at the change of subject, however slight. “An old folk tune me mam would use as a lullaby. I suppose it calms me, too.”

“Would you teach it to me?”

He smiles, as tentative but warm as a rare glimpse of sun peering out over the Highlands. “It’d be my pleasure.”


End file.
